


A Taste of the Heart

by Werecakes



Category: The Hobbit, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A new kingdom is made, Bakery, Chocolatiar AU, Elros makes a great buddy for Frerin, F/M, God damn orcs keep trying to steal their ginger bread!, M/M, Pasteries, Sweets all around, Thranduil is kind of a jerk but he gets better, cute moments, full of family feels, low and slow, mostly because he becomes a chocoholic, out of sweets, this fic is nummy and yummy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-03-31 09:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3972013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werecakes/pseuds/Werecakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Smaug attacked, Thorin leaves his nearly dead brother in the care of Elrose one of Thranduil's elven guards when the King refuses to give the dwarves aid.<br/>Tired of fighting and seeing those he love hurt and die, Thorin finds a better way to give his people work and raise a new kingdom. A kingdom of sweets! The Line of Durin make the best chocolates in Middle Earth that every race desires, but there is one Durin that has a hard time making chocolates. Thinking he is a failure, Fili leaves on a quest to find what he can do to help raise this candy kingdom into an empire! When he finds his long lost uncle he finds exactly what he's best at.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bitter

Thorin pulled his little sister onto his lap, the smell of burnt hair and smoke coated her still after several days of walking. He helped her out of her little clothes, balancing the young dwarf on his lap. He tried humming the song that their mother had always sung to them when they were babes but it was hard on his smoke burnt throat and brought back the pain of the knowledge he would never see his mother ever again. Dis, by all means, was still a toddler and Frerin barely a strapling. While Thorin was still young himself he had a beard that he braided, Frerin had sparse whiskers and Dis only had her baby fluff and wouldn’t lose it for many more seasons yet to come.

 

He dropped her soot covered clothes onto the ground as he splashed his toes in the calm river of the bank he sat on.

 

“Ready for your bath?” Thorin’s voice was gravely, each word scratched and left pain in his throat.

 

“No!” Dis pouted.

 

“Dis, you have to take a bath. We’ll bathe together, wouldn’t you like that? Taking a bath with big brother?”

 

“No!!”

 

“Why not?”

 

“She only bathed with mother,” Frerin said as he came over, picking up discarded clothing. Thorin felt his stomach twist from the bandage that covered his brother’s head, covering one eye.

 

Thorin sighed. “Dis… M-mother’s not here, so you’ll have to take a bath with your brothers or with father.”

 

“Girls don’t bathe with boys!!” Dis nearly shrieked.

 

“Dis!!” Thorin yelled, losing his temper. This was not the time to fight a little sister while he could still hear people crying from the camp of broken and homeless dwarves that was only a few meters away.

 

His out burst set Dis into silence, her face started to scrunch up. He felt panic well up as she started off with a low sound before throwing her head back and screaming out a wail that made his ears ring. He was tempted to toss the princess into the water when Frerin picked her off of Thorin’s lap. He was small for his age, making him lace his hands under her naked bottom as he leaned back to keep her against his chest. He twisted himself from side to side, rocking his sister, he legs dangling to his knees. He stayed quiet until she had decided she had cried enough. He leaned back some more to look at her face that was red and covered with snot.

 

“No bath today, but could you help your brothers wash some clothes?” He kept his voice quiet. “We could really use your help.”

 

Dis nodded, wiping her arm across her mouth. Frerin put her down on the ground. He took her hand into his own. “Lady Myrith says we need to find a good bumpy stone to use.”

 

“Why?” Dis sniffed and wiped at her nose again.

 

“I… um…” Frerin had no idea.

 

“It’s to rub our clothes against, beat the dirt out of the fabric.” Thorin filled in.

 

“That’s it, a washboard!” Frerin smiled down at the little strawberry blond. “Let’s go find one, Dis.”

 

“Yes!” She readily agreed.

 

As royals they were never taught how to do chores, simple cleaning was a mystery to the three. They had to watch the dwarves they traveled with, talk to them, have the commoners teach them. They were lucky that the line of Durin were quick learners, though, there were some downfalls from being from select breeding.

 

He looked to his brother who was now walking with their sister in the water, Frerin’s boots and Dis’ clothes cradled in the blond’s free arm. There was a reason why their father had only one eye. Some of the Durin’s couldn’t heal like a normal dwarf. It was slow, wounds easily festered, and like Frerin, and their mother, they would get sick easily. It was why Frerin had a bow for a weapon, he was being trained to keep his distance from the enemy. But when Smaug came he had been placed on top of the mountain side, to shoot at the beast. It was only because of a few of his fellow archers that he even survived the heat of the dragon’s breath. He lost his eye, his hair burned off and his scalp blackened. He was thankful that Frerin still had his golden little whiskers on his face. A completely bald dwarf was always made fun of and that was the last thing they needed, after losing so much being called names and bullied was the last thing the three Durin children needed.

 

He heard his siblings calling him, he followed their voices to where they found a decent rock to use as a wash board. He pulled the soap out of his pocket that he was going to use to wash his sister with, it was good enough to wash their clothes in it too. He undressed and soon he was bare bottomed in the quiet river with his little brother and sister. They fumbled with their clothes, learning through trial and error with scrubbing. By the time they were done they had worn a hole in the seat of Frerin’s pants, over soaped Thorin’s tunic so when it dried it was itchy, and Dis’ dress was oddly stiff. Thankfully, from all the suds and splashing it got all three of them soaked. They pushed each other around, Thorin tossing the two younger into the water as they laughed and played. Afterwards they had to wash Frerin’s bandages and let him float in the water. Thorin holding his ankles so he didn’t drift away with the current. The cool water helped with his burns. Dis threw a fit wanting to wash Frerin’s burns but she was still too clumsy to take charge of such delicate work. Instead, Thorin had her “direct” him and tell him where to wash and what to do when it came to rewrapping the large burn.

 

It was late at night, Dis asleep on Thrain’s chest, Thror fast asleep that Thorin heard Frerin coughing. He got up, stepping around sleeping bodies and a crackling fire. He worked his way to the outer edge, Frerin’s burns would be agitated when he slept close to the fire. Thorin laid behind his brother, pulling his blanket over his brother. He held him close, silently praying that no one else will be taken from him so soon.

 

“Thorin?” Frerin’s voice was raw from coughing.

 

“Yes?”

 

“....Today was nice.”

 

“It was.” Thorin knew the tone in his brother’s voice. He wanted to say something else.

 

Frerin’s body shook as he silently cried, his next words revealed his tender age. “I miss mum.”

 

“I miss her too.” Thorin hugged his little brother tight.

 

“I’m s-scared of forgetting her-her voice. A-and what if Dis forgets her? W-what if-”

 

“Shh,” Thorin squeezed Frerin tighter. “We won’t forget her. Hlín was the best mother, did everything for us… gave her life for Dis.” He blamed his smoked burned throat that his voice was breaking. “No matter how long we live… now sleep, you need rest before you can get stronger.”

 

The days that followed found Frerin laying in a cart, coughing with a fever, his burns trying to fester. Thror took their people towards the once green wood that the elves called home. While his people camped outside he took his family inside, carrying his fragile grandson. He received an audience with Thranduil who stood tall, eyes unfeeling as he stared down at the dwarves.

 

“Please, we need help.” Thror begged making Thorin’s insides twist into a tight knot. “Many are injured. We are cold and hungry. Many of my people have perished and now we are losing what young we have left.” Thror adjusted a sick Frerin in his arms. The youth threw up covering his tunic with vomit that got on his grandfather’s beard. Thranduil’s nose twisted up in disgust.

 

“Please! Even if it only our young you aid!” Thrain threw in, panicked at seeing his son in such states. “When we reclaim our kingdom we will pay you anything you ask for!”

 

Thranduil opened his mouth and said the words that terrified them the most. “What is the word of a dwarf? If you wish aid go to the elves in the West.”

 

“No!” Thrain and Thorin shouted at the same time.

 

“Guards, remove them.”

 

“No! You can’t do this!” Thorin yelled.

 

“You’re killing our children!!” Thrain bellowed.

 

“If they are meant to live then they will.” Thranduil slowly descended the steps that lead up to his throne. “Are you not prideful on how resilient your kind are?” He slunk up to Thror staring down at the dwarf. “Are you not happy that you no longer have to deal with meddlesome elves any longer?”

 

This was a personal hatred between the two kings. Thorin could see it. Trouble caused by his grandfather’s gold hoarding ways. This feud was going to cost him his brother and there was nothing he could do as the elven guards started to push the royal family out.

 

One guard pointed down long bridge that lead to a dirt pathway. “Follow that road until the tree that grows with three trunks, go east and you will find your way out.”

 

They started walking when Frerin coughed again. His stomach cramped so badly that he urinated while bloodied specks of spittle showed up on his lips.

 

Thorin had enough. He grabbed the elf by the arm, the red headed guard put his hand on the pumle of his sword.

 

“Take him!!” Thorin yelled.

 

The elf’s eyes grew wide with surprise.

 

“Thorin!” Thror growled. “We’ll find help elsewhere.”

 

“He will not make it to somewhere else!” Thorin went to his grandfather, grabbing at Frerin.

 

Thror recoiled, struggling with his grandson over the deathly ill youth.

 

“Let me have him!”

 

“Unhand him, Thorin!”

 

Dis started to cry, Thrain tried to pull them apart. Thorin ripped Frerin from his grandfather. He went to the elven guard pushing his little brother into his arms.

 

“Take him.” He begged into the green eyed creature.

 

“Thorin, no!”

 

“Save him!!” Thorin shoved the guard into taking hold of Frerin. “If you can only help one of us then let it be him!”

 

The group fell silent. The guard adjusting to properly hold the young dwarf. He looked down and the burnt and broken thing in his arms. He looked back at Thorin the young prince pulled out his boot knife. The guard stiffened, watching his every movement. Thorin grabbed his braided beard and with a hard yank and swift motion he had cut it off. He stuffed it into the shocked elf’s hand.

 

The elf simply nodded, turned and walked back into the stone gates of the elven kingdom. The only noises left were the cries of little Dis.

 

“What have you done?” Thrain whispered.

 

Thorin turned and picked up Dis. He held her close as he walked down the path. He was tired of fighting. Fighting cost them so much already, he wasn’t going to let it take away even more. He knew that the years ahead would be full of strife, but he was only going to fight if it was necessary. Battling and waging wars only doomed the living, there was no gain. If they were going to get a kingdom then it would have to be a new one.

 

 


	2. Salty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this one is so short, I'm kind of powering through writer's block.  
> If you have any suggestions or ideas, please leave them in a comment! I would be delighted to know what is on your mind!

He did not promise, not verbally. He had desired to toss the dying dwarfling in the woods and let the spiders have at him. He hated dwarves. The rift that was ripped between the two races was a deep one and many no longer remember why they harbored a great hate towards one another. On top of that, his king had turned the dwarves away. He would be in great trouble for taking one in. Thranduil could punish him with going out to scout alone where he wouldn’t come back, out right execute him, or banishment; whichever the king was in the whim for. So why was it, that he had a sick little dwarf in his bed? The carved out bunk in the wooden wall barely fit his own thin frame but the boy was so small and thin that the bed look large.

Elros took the steeping tea to his right and put some in his mouth. The boy could not swallow on his own. The elf leaned over Frerin and tilted his head back, he pushed his tongue up against the boy’s opening up the back of the throat before letting the bitter medicine poor from his mouth into the dwarf’s. He rubbed at the tiny throat to help with the swallowing. He did this three or four more times to make sure his ward had enough to drink. Then he carefully unwrapped the bandages that wrapped around his burnt head. He mused that it was the burns that made him want to try to help, not the memory of desperation and fear from a dwarf with a chopped beard. Frerin made a sound of discomfort that he quietly hushed. When the boy didn’t stop as the last of the sticky bandages came off he found himself singing softly. The elvish melody was hauntingly beautiful as it raised and fell in the dimly lit room. He took a rag from one of the two bowls that was on the same table as the tea. He dabbed away the old pasty medicine from Frerin’s head, little sprigs of gold would stick to anything they could. Once the scalp was clean, Elros reached into the other bowl and scooped some paste onto his fingers. He rubbed it between his hands like lotion, spreading it evenly before slipping his palms over the raw wounds. The past was already cooling his fingers making them tingle with the onset of numbness. He was gladdened when the boy stopped making his sounds of pain in his unconscious state. He picked up a new roll of bandages and wrapped up his head. Next he tended to the missing eye, burnt out, skin melted over. Not much could be done beyond cleaning it and numbing the burn. Perhaps, when he was older, Elros could fashion a fake eye for him. ...perhaps…

It took a full month of diligent care before the boy was well enough to speak. His illness had wished to keep him within its’ grip. It worried Elros, he had never seen someone catch illness and keep it for so long, even with elven medicine. But, when the boy woke, his face shiny from the sweat of a fever, he simply smiled. The elf felt it tug at something deep inside. His one eye was so grateful that even though he had no voice as of yet, it was as if Elros could hear him saying it; “thank you, thank you for saving me”. It made him awkward around the youth. Stiff bodied and mechanical in movement when tending to him. Elros lost all the words that he wanted to speak to him, remaining quiet unless it was humming or singing because the pain was getting too much for the boy.

One night, when he had been certain the dwarf had taken a turn for the worse, he pressed the cut braided beard into the boy’s palm. The flickering, dying light of Elros’ last candle spluttered on the table next to him. He took his thin fingers and ran them up from the bead, over each chain up to the tied off top. For the first time, he actually spoke to the boy. His voice low and lilting.

“The dwarf that passed you to me cared for you very much.” Elros continued to move Frerin’s fingers over Thorin’s braid. “He fought with the others for your safety. Would it not be a fine thing for you to see him again? He cut his beard off for you.” He folded the small hands together. He reached up, running his hand over bandages. He didn’t know much about dwarven customs but he did know that hair was the most prized amongst the stout people. To have one cut off their hair like Thorin did, it was a great show of love. Of course, Elros was only a simple guard that had not left his kingdom, he wasn’t versed in the different royalties of the lands of Arda. He did not know he had a prince in his bed. He did not know the depth of love that Thorin held for his family. All he knew was that he had a dying child in his bed. A child he had been nursing to the best of his ability for days on end.

When the candle flickered for the last time, the candle winking out like a distant star, Elros stayed with Frerin in the dark.

“Be well, child.” He whispered. Remembering the smiles he had received. “...I would like to see you smile once more, child. To see that light again.”

*******************

Thorin kept Dis close to him. She cried often and asked after Frerin more. He didn’t know what to tell her, only hold her and tell her that Frerin was well. It was hard to get work, he knew little about different trades, but he knew how to haggle prices. At first he got a bit of reprieve from Dis’ distress by going with different dwarves and making sure that whomever they worked for would pay them a decent price. While his father and grandfather sold their abilities of arms to local militias or hunting parties Thorin started off working fields. There he could watch his little sister, try to help by picking up a rake or hoe. She would awkwardly circle her arms around it, keeping the long handle to her tiny chest and flip the head out a few inches in front of her before hugging it to her chest again making tiny scratch marks in the soil. When he would thresh the wheat she would help tie the bundles, sitting on his shoulders before he would produce the scythe and spend long hours rocking back and forth. Toe to heal. Eb and wave. In moments like that Thorin couldn’t help but let his mind wonder. His mind would go from where Dis was currently at and what she was doing, over to what more he could do to help his people. Where could they go? They needed to settle down, not travel all over Arda for the rest of their lives. He needed to do something, anything to better his people. Seeing dwarves sell themselves to petty feuds as hired muscle, being maimed or killed because of it; his conviction to make a peaceful kingdom only strengthened. Then his mind would go to his brother. His sweet, kind hearted, brother. He had no idea if he was alive or had the illness taken him to the Halls of Waiting?

By the end of the day he would take his pay and silently walk back to camp where he would eat tasteless cram and let what little meats be eaten by the women or children first, what was left was given to the warriors. Usually, his meal would remain as nothing but the hard biscuit. The next day he would go to the same field until it was done or find a new one. He liked the work outside. He did know some blacksmithing, but the farm work seemed more fruitful. It allowed him to think and not boil in rage over hot metal and fire. Anger was not the answer. Rage against the elves, despite what they had done, despite how many children had died because of Thranduil- Thorin threw down his scythe in frustration. He had the blessed relief of Dis being with their father for the day. It allowed him to slump down into the hot, dusty earth and cover his face with his hands as tears spilled down his cheeks. So many had died and he was helpless to help the ones out there with their bellies sunken in. They survived on what they could but dwarves were dying almost every day.

He felt his chest constrict with huffed breathes as he pulled up his knees and cried.


End file.
